


waves.

by RookieBrown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Detective Lexa, Doctor Clarke, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookieBrown/pseuds/RookieBrown
Summary: It was a bomb that started it all.A bomb in TonDC in a boring Wednesday of the week, somewhere in the rush hour of a late morning.or, Detective Lexa and Doctor Clarke and a glimpse of their life together.





	waves.

**Author's Note:**

> Since it's been a while, bare with me.
> 
> Inspired by song, The Other Side by Ruelle
> 
> And Edited.

 

It was a bomb that started it all.

 

A bomb in TonDC in a boring Wednesday of the week, somewhere in the rush hour of a late morning.

 

21 died. 10 children among them. And 60 of the injured were barely hanging.

 

 

 

The echoing roar of that disaster lasted a week - _two tops. A month because of the media._

 

 

 

Clarke remembers all too well, because she was there. Because she had been the one to confirm and cleanse all their deaths.

 

 

 

"There are savages and then _there are savages."_ Advisor Pike had said to the news a few or two later. He didn't say it out loud but everyone heard him nonetheless. The underlying message. _That downtown TonDC was born with crippling violence in them - mobs - thieves - drug dealers - prostitution._ You name them.

 

It was true.

 

Then again it wasn't.

 

But Lexa would disagree with a guilt sad nod. She would say _the truth is grey at best._

_If someone holds out to a five year kid, a pack of cocaine or a pocket knife instead of a pencil there's nothing that kid can go much after that,_ she tells Clarke. She was one of those five year old kids once upon a time too.

 

Maybe that's why whenever Lexa would read every line on the newspaper on the growing darkness of _TonDC,_ she would clench her jaw and leave the paper on the table, her steps heavy and in an odd remembrance of guilt. And each time, Clarke would trace another black and white picture of some kid - _gunned down_ or _arrested -_ and every single time she would thank god that Lexa got out.

 

 

Nothing of utter significance happens after Pike's interview. Just another couple more of pretense apologizes and _deepest condolences._

 

It's happens after 10 days.

 

When Chancellor Kane's daughter, _Charlotte Kane,_ gets abducted. Clarke had been coming home picking up _Madeline_ from her school when she opens the already ajar front door to a hustling Lexa. Clarke watches her wife rushing towards her daughter, engulfing her under her bosom - reminding Clarke of that first time when Lexa had met _her - warm and delicate and so small in her arms - just a day old._

The behavior is odd, considering Lexa wasn't most likely to be here now.

 

But then, Lexa's cocooning Maddie under one arm and tugging Clarke firm against her and Clarke can almost feel the stiff metal of her wife's handgun digging against her hips.

 

"Lexa -" Clarke asks worriedly. But Lexa cuts her off, her voice small and breathless.

 

"Marcus Kane's daughter Charlotte had been kidnapped. This morning." Her nails are digging into Clarke's dress. _Charlie -_ Clarke calls _Charlotte_ Charlie. Clarke was one of her attending's during her birth before Clarke couldn't work in the hospital anymore, and she transferred. "I called you and you weren't picking up and I just needed to see you both." Lexa's cold nose brushes against the cone of her neck, her voice wet from unshed tears.

 

There's a squeaky _mama, tv_ from under her arms and there's sloppy warm kisses on both of their cheeks when Maddie flees to towards the living room.

 

"Baby. What happened?" Clarke asks, fingers brushing and nibbling against the slope of Lexa's cheeks. "Is Charlotte - "

 

Lexa closes her eyes. "Evidence is showing it's related to TonDC." Her chest rises up and down, high and low. By the time, she opens her eyes, there's that familiar cloudiness in those greens that Clarke thought she would never see again.

 

"I'm going to be leading this investigation. I owe Kane that much."

 

Strong hands tightens on Clarke's dress. Clarke wants to say _you don't owe anyone anything_ but she knows it would be useless. Like so many times before. Lexa doesn't cry, she rarely does, but Clarke feels that moistening in her eyes.

 

 

 

There are not any phone calls until the late of that evening. The video cameras across the city doesn't help either - too many not working and some blanked out. Clarke sees the bustling of the officers and detectives, heads down and shoulders slumped under pressure.

 

Lexa manages to recover the car up until then, that had been escorting _Charlotte_ to her school. The car had been burnt and dumped - the driver, _Julian,_ was almost beaten to bones and sticks but still breathing.

 

"Give me the bomber of TonDC." The muffed vicious voice had demanded to a distraught Kane. " _Give me the killer and your child lives."_ Surprisingly, Raven Reyes isn't able to triangulate his location either.

_"_ _Burner phone."_ She says. Thrown aside in some gutter near the _Floukru district, the place where Charlotte was taken._

Marcus Kane sits on the chair, blazer askew on the arm. Clarke doesn't see the _Senator Kane_ that's sitting in some worn down chair. Clarke sees just a beaten down father, tears stuck in grey hairs.

 

"I have searched. I have looked. I have asked." He says tiredly. _For bombing, is implied._ But you can't do much if your own hands are tied." He looks up at Clarke, long eyelashes drooping in sadness. Marcus Kane had always been a friend of the _Griffin_ family first, a politician later.

 

Heavy thick drops wet the white coat of Clarke's when she hugs him.

 

"I lost Cecelia." Kane sniffles. "I can't lose Charlie."

 

"Nothing is going to happen to Charlie." Clarke half promises. She unknowingly peers over his shoulder to look at Lexa who's eyes stills halfway to meet the blues.

 

Lexa smiles. It's barely there but it still brings that eclipse of love in Clarke.

 

 

 

It's somewhere around 9. There's a tentative knock and an open and close of the glass door. Clarke doesn't look up from her reports. The revolving chair twitches in its screw as detective motions it round. Then, there are small calculated steps and warm arms are carving the shape of Clarke's hips.

 

"Go home, Dr. Griffin-Woods, it's late." Lexa says softly, hands toying with the silver band on Clarke's finger.

 

"I thought we could go home together, detective." Clarke replies, standing on high heels in between Lexa.

 

The constant tug and pull of Clarke's hand doesn't stop. Instead, Lexa scales the soft of her palms, clamping it closer and closer and pressing her own lips over the roof of cream skin.

 

"I can't." Lexa heaves heavily. Her lips pillow out in a constricted pout. She speaks after an eternity too long, eyes distant out. "Everyone wants TonDC to be gone, it's a place of unrest after all. Even patience has its limit and nobody cares - "

 

" - enough to investigate now." Clarke completes. "And the kidnapper isn't patient anymore."

 

Lexa nods, eyes already fallen to the floor. A malignant fear creeps into Clarke's spine at the knowing fact.

 

"Charlotte doesn't have long does she?"

 

Lexa doesn't answer.

 

Instead, she kisses the skin of Clarke's forehead, longingly and Clarke lives into it.

 

 

 

Clarke relieves Monroe of her babysitter duties as soon she comes back. She orders pizza for dinner  with _extra cheese and extra pepperoni_ for them.

 

Clarke tugs Maddie in bed that night. Something Lexa usually does.

 

"Mom." Her daughter says in sleep laden eyes. "Mama?"

 

"Catching baddies." Clarke replies engulfing her daughter with a goodnight kiss. "Mama says goodnight, sweetheart."

 

Clarke ends on the couch, with a blanket and another glass of wine as she gazes at her message.

 

Lexa (21:35) : _Will be working late. Give Maddie a goodnight kiss for me. And don'' wait up._

Clarke doesn't go to bed.

 

Lexa doesn't come home.

 

 

 

Lexa is close to breaking either that small table or break a familiar man's head with that table the next day. Clarke doesn't know which one is worse, as she watches her wife prowl at the scared man in the caged interrogation room.

 

"She's being going non-stop since the crack of dawn, Doctor Woods." Raven says moaning at the cream of her coffee.

 

"Do I know that guy?" Clarke asks, placing two more coffees and her bag on the desk.

 

Raven looks through the glass, twirling the hot syrup in her cup. "That's Damian Lancaster. He - "

 

"He was one of the injured at the bombing." Clarke finishes, eyes squatting at the room again. "I read his file. Leg amputation. But I don't - "

 

"Woods think it must be someone to hold a grudge that strong enough to do this. Time's running out and I - " Clarke zips her head towards Raven. She shrugs desolately. The disappearance is too clean. No bread crumps, nothing. Someone in these files has to be related. 

 

It's Detective Anya Pine who brings in _Luna Waters._ She's feisty in overzealous red mane and handcuffs - her name springing in too many times in too many smuggling cases. But nothing concrete stands enough to make her see the ray of _American prison life._

Anya throws some photos on the white prep table. Some of Charlotte - _young and giddy in recitals -_ some of Luna herself in too many comprising situations. Anya doesn't give Luna even the time of a second, and Clarke watches as Luna coils. Anya shotguns and Luna coils and recoils, but not enough, maybe because she knows what money can buy and cannot - and Lexa, she stands at the corner, arms crossed across her chest.

 

"I want a lawyer." Finally Luna says, oddly smirking, eyes flicking to the lady with green eyes and Anya and Lexa, both knows that it would mean nothing except diamond time loss.

 

"Well, you are not getting any, Miss Waters." Lexa raises her hand, strongly shutting any figure of speech from Anya, thudding her palm on the table.

 

"Where is Charlotte Kane?"

 

"I do not know.""

 

"So, you are telling me that on the 22nd of August, you have been what, meandering on the docks all day for aesthetic pleasure or was it the fishing, I mean even smugglers need breaks right?" Lexa bites at Luna, who holds Lexa's gaze.

 

"Where is Charlotte Kane?" Lexa stares down Luna. Luna opens her mouth, "I don't - "

 

Lexa sits down. Anya hands her a singular polaroid photo. Luna gulps at the picture, eyes ember as she nearly lunges across the table.

 

"It would be an utter shame if say -" Lexa smirks too false, "Lucas, your lover, gets arrested for possession, don't you think?"

 

"Fuck you, _Detective."_

 

Lexa heaves. She pulls her colt special out and places it in the table. She exhales out.

 

"Hurts doesn't it?" Lexa waits. "You know, she's just 8 right?" She pauses. "I have no interest in your extracurricular activities. I just need to find her. Lexa curls her hand on the desk, steeled eyes locked on Luna. Even from across the glass room, Clarke watches the fall in of Luna's nonchalant masked demeanor and it's gone like it was never there.

 

"And what will I get for the information, _Detective,_ if I hypothetically say I might know." Luna smiles coy and sly and Lexa stares too short before signaling towards Anya and strapping up her gun.

 

Lexa is up and leaving when Luna straggles out a _wait._ Lexa turns on heels towards the handcuffed woman.

 

"Blood must have blood, that had always been the emblem of TonDC." Luna eyes Lexa as she says. Somber and dull, her lips stretch into a hollow smile. "TonDC might be -“ Luna corrects "- TonDC is a doomed place but there innocents there. Who are killed and _our democratic of a government_ doesn't bother with justice. This was bound to happen." Luna leans back on the chair, eyes moving to and fro between the other two occupants. "You have a five feet and 11 inch of a mole. A mole names _Julian."  
_

 

The four words suck the breath out of Lexa, flaring her blood. "Excuse me? You think we haven't checked him?"

 

Anya moves into Luna's eye line. "He's clean."

 

Luna nods.

 

" _Alexandria."_

 

The name is spoken like she is reminiscing, that name that breaks tyranny in Lexa's posture.

_She's just Lexa now._ Clarke thinks. _Just her Lexa._

"You should know better than that." Luna meanders. "Not many has the chance to close the chapter of _TonDC_ from their lives eternally. Julian is more than he seems."

 

Lexa dials immediate on her phone. A bolo to be put on Julian Brown and an arrest warrant for him.

 

"Get Miss Waters out of her cuff, Pine." Lexa commands, slipping on her jacket. Anya retaliates, but Lexa is quick to call her off. "She's not our priority."

 

Luna is brushing the sharp lines on her wrist when Clarke meets them at the door.

 

"Blood has always been thicker than water, but I never realized how distant we had become in memory that you can't even seem to say my name." She is shrugging on her contrasting grey bowl hat, eyes all scruffy. Clarke remembers that familiarity of the voice all too well. _Nostalgia,_ is what Clarke even sees in Luna's eyes as she peers over her shoulders. _Nostalgia_ that Clarke had seen each time her father would look at her in his dying months.

 

It was regretting and painful.

 

Lexa doesn't reply, she grips onto Clarke's hands instead. Luna nods, tips her hat at them both.

 

"I wish we had met under better circumstances, Mrs. Woods."

 

Her eyes are on Lexa again. Downcast and doleful. "May we meet again, _strik Leksa."_

Clarke squeezes onto Lexa's. Her dusty eyes lingers on hers before meeting an already turned Luna. Loud enough she says, "May we meet again, _Luna."_

 

 

 

 _Julian Brown, an orphan of Polis Society_ was Jules Whitemore.

 

Estranged son of Nyko Whitemore.

 

Mother, Maya Whitemore, died at police crossfire in 2002.

 

And Jules Whitemore was missing.

 

 

 

The hospital is futile. His bed empty and the cameras catch him running out the back door. That's it.

 

Lexa bangs her hand on the steer wheel.

 

Jules has 4 broken ribs. A concussion on his head. 3 stitches on his stomach. And he is in hospital clothes under some stolen black coat.

 

"Local pharmacies." The words come simultaneously to them amidst coffee smells and half eaten donuts. Clarke laughs _just like old days_ and for the first time, the smile Lexa gives her isn't heavy. Its tender. Her finger brushes against Clarke's arm before her phone rings.

 

 

 

"Keep your radio on all times. Reyes is in tech today." She presses against Clarke's lips over the car window. Anya already heading away from her and inside the warehouse. Clarke nods. "And don't come out of the car." Clarke nods distractedly at the spare handgun that Lexa gives her.

 

"Don't get out of the car at all costs." Lexa says too seriously into her ear piece some distance inside, making Clarke smile and then there's just static.

 

 

 

Clarke's cell doesn't work. Neither does the radio. Both singing static lines. The pain in her right hand jostles her unsteady. _Ambush. Ambush. Clarke thinks._

 

She grabs the gun and locks the car on her way out. Clarke doesnt recall point to point detail after that.

 

She blames in on adrenaline and fear.

 

She remembers a dead body lying on the ground - unmoving and stiff. She remembers Anya's bleeding leg and her blue face and shooting Jules in his torso, toppling back a few steps at the momentum.

 

She remembers Lexa running towards a van.

 

She remembers Lexa's horror and her scream.

 

Clarke remembers the blunt force of something that hits the back of her own head as she falls down.

 

 

 

"Julian died on the way to the hospital." Raven says tiredly. "He said his fight is finally over and he was not even 20."

 

 

 

Clarke stares at the data. The same data over and over again. Raven goes over the cam videos, running recognition data and waiting. Anya limps in with three coffees, the wound on her leg still ruddy. Raven slumps up for the tray.

 

"Its a graze. I have survived worse." Her smile is tight. She peers at Clarke. Clarke nods a negative at the drink, skimming through the files.

 

25 hours since _Charlotte._

2 hours since _Lexa._

Marcus Kane comes in stuttering apologizes in her lab.

 

"I'm not worried. Lexa's strong and she going to keep Charlie safe." Clarke says adamant and in admiration.

 

But there's nothing the both of them can do but wait.

 

 

 

He has a bolo on him. He's picture is smashing on every news screen. Yet when he comes, he's anything but.

 

He's long beard is shaved, his face unmarred and hidden under the shadow of a baseball cap. He is in his khakis as he slides through the door and knocks out the petty officer, pulling out his gun and locking the door.

 

Clarke is rooted and so is Kane.

 

"Senator." He says grimly, eyes looking through the curtained glass at the gathering officers and then he looks at Clarke. "Doctor."

 

The room is one of the waiting room for the victim's family, small and dim lighted and in oak. He situates himself in one of the tolls, the gun in his hands hanging callously.

 

Clarke's heart thunders in her sleeves, she clasps shut her open palm as the growing tanginess. Marcus moves beside her, sweating under his tux.

 

Nyko doesn't say anything. The brutality of the situation hangs midair in their faces.

 

"Are you that foolish to be kill us here?" Clarkes dares ask.

 

His laugh is mirth and painted in utter sadness. "You think I'm here to kill you" He points to the both of them."I'm no killer. I'm just an ordinary man who is looking for justice. Justice instead of condolence money that the government spits in my bank account for the past 15 years. Justice for my children. My sons who died today. Can you give me that Chancellor?"

 

Marcus hardens, brittle. He shakes. "I can't"

 

"No, you can't."

 

He stands up. Marcus stands up with him. Clarke following suit.

 

"Listen take me. Take me instead and you can give back Charlotte and Lex -"

 

"Lexa." He curls her name in his tongue. Its gritty and seems dirty. Clarke fists up, "Don't you dare say her name, you mo -"

 

"Monster?" He points the gun at her. "Its a relative term, Doctor. I knew her though. _Alexandria."_ He twirls the gun at Marcus. "I knew all orphaned kids. Marcus Kane, the infamous social worker who saved her, _what was that you had said from,_ yes, from toxic scum."

 

He moves up to Marcus, collaring him and placing the metal sheen against his head, dragging him towards the door. "It comes and goes in waves, you know, _the guilt._ Who we are and what we do to survive makes us completely different, no, Doctor Griffin?"

 

"Killing him - killing them wont fix anything." Clarke pleas. "Don't do this. Dot be this stupid. You wont ever get out of this alive."

 

"You think I want to get out of this alive?" The sadism of his answer sands time for Clarke.

 

"I can give you anything you want. Even me. Just not my daughter." Kane begs.

 

Nyko pulls the magazine out of the gun. "Can you give me my people back?" Nyko nods for Kane. "You cant. I cant either." He presses the empty gun at Kaneâ€™s head.

 

"You are a fucking monster." Clarke screams.

 

"And _Alexandria_ was a righteous fool butting in others business. My fight is going to be over soon and so are theirs. You wont be able to save them, _wanheda."_ Nyko says colorlessly. The door opens and too many shots are fired.

 

 

 

Detectives Raven Reyes and Anya Pine are with her when they are heading out towards the meandering lake house. It's not under the Whitemore name anymore, seized by the government, but still very much on _TonDC land._ Maybe that's why it had been so hard to locate, invisible under their noses.

 

However, there's nothing that's stands out.

 

Except for the many dust clinging picture frames memories and a barren fire place with a mossy aroma.

 

Clarke gets frantic. Evening is creeping and the trumpeting of her heart somehow bobbing in her throat. The bare two floor creaky house with a damaged pipe line empty - and _nothing,_ she thinks berating her train of thoughts, _not possible - not possible._

 

 _No Lexa. No Charlotte_. Albeit for their own booted clicks on the hardwood.

 

Pine is somehow upstairs again and Clarke distinctly hears the bang of cupboards, the thrash of glass - _anything_. And Reyes is knocking everything over here, knuckles drumming against the walls, harsh footsteps on the floor, just in case. _Nothing,_ before Reyes heads out front.

 

Clarke stands near the stool, lips trembling, and stormy eyes stuck somewhere on the carpeted ground, the nerves in her hand oddly hurting. The clogged dampness is burning her nostrils.

_I'm missing something. Something. Something._ Clarke removes the books on the shelf- the painting - the vent up for the source of the smell. _Nothing._

 

Pine comes down biting her cheeks.

 

"Nothing." She graves out. "Fucking empty. I'm going to disfigure that Monty's face when I get back." Anya pulls her eyes to gaze past the window pane at the river and its petulantly rising water. _High tide was coming. ""_ We checked the other places. I just don't fucking understand."

 

Clarke doesn't say anything, instead runs her hand through her hair, pearled teeth grating the center of her palm. Anya watches her, peer too strong at the floor again.

 

"Doctor Woods, I am going to head out to Reyes - " Clarke doesn't answer. She moves towards the furthest edge of the floor, gloved hand scraping against its edges.

 

"Clarke. What are you -"

 

"This house doesn't have a basement."

 

Anya pauses. She swallows carefully.

 

"Because high tides would flood the basement, so the Whitemore family had sealed them off. I have checked out the construction work myself. Done a bit of 8 years ago. Nothing faulty."

 

Clarke doesn't give an answer, instead rushing to check the four sides of living room. The minute engorging drench seeping through the woods.

 

"The whole floor is getting wet."

 

"What?"

 

"The whole fucking floor is getting wet. What does that tell you, Anya?"

 

_Someone cracked the wall. To flood the basement._

_But why? Why now._

Clarke sets up as Anya crouches down. The vague green and the lining watery against the wood work. Detective Pine looks up at the knowing look on Clarke - lashed with an underlying fear.

 

Clarke is already running towards the entrance crushing into Reyes. The Detective steadies up the medical examiner, prompting looking in between Anya and Clarke. "Hey. You know, the lock to the basement of the house has been brok-"

 

Clarke is unsteadily running out, the handprints of salts still on Raven's hand. Raven looks up at Anya, who nods numbly and minutely before rushing out.

 

"I'm calling it in."

 

 

 

The basement is claustrophobically small. A dangly quarter of a space with not a single echo of the autumn sun.

 

 

 

She had a broken nose and cold blood sticks mercilessly to the fiber of her jacket. Lexa doesn't breathe when Clarke forces air into her mouth. She doesn't breathe when Clarke tears her detective's vest and her shirt and weighs both of her hands on Lexa's pale chest and presses.

 

Nothing works. Lexa's eyes are still closed and her blue lips are still parted.

 

Clarke brushes of someone's squeeze on her shoulder. She sweeps of any salty pencil tears off her eyes.

 

"You are not dying today, bastard." Clarke huffs with angry and that odd tint of pride. But anger wins out in warm tears down her face.

 

The paramedic says something, _something about pads_. Clarke doesn't take them. She can hear the soft murmur of Lexa's heart, she knows the pads won't help. Clarke fists her palms and thuds again on her chest. _She_ still sleeps.

 

Anya moves to intervene, eyes stuck on Lexa's face, hands tight balled - _let them take her to the hospital -_ Anya aggravates, its her best friend after all. Its kind of hard seeing the one who's always worn herself like an armor become the Achilles heel. 

 

Then there are hands again on Clarke's shoulders and this time she hisses too out loud.

 

"She won't even make it to through the hospital doors if she can't breathe." She pushes past Anya and Raven to the ambulance, and pulls out a sterile scalpel.

 

It all happens in the split of a second. Clarke makes an incision in the base of Lexa's neck. Just past the cricothyroid - an ooze of warm blood exhales mordantly. Clarke gently inserts a tube, connecting it to an oxygen bag.

 

And she waits.

 

 

 

 _She_ had been gripping to the thin squared metal crate, sucking in any semblance of air that comes in through the wooded partition, standing on Detective _Alexandria'_ s shoulders - Charlotte says, before breathing into the mask.

 

"She saved me, daddy." Charlotte says slumped against Marcus's shoulders.

 

 

 

Clarke finally gives into her tears when she sees a small rise and a plateaued fall.

 

Lexa's eyes still closed - buxom chapped lips till blue and parted - but she's breathing. _She's breathing_ and Clarke in her crimson hands deposits a sighing solemn kiss on her lips.

 

Dr. Clarke Griffin is called _Wanheda._

_Commander of Death,_ the daily had said, _an ancient Hebrew term._

Clarke thinks sitting in the back of the ambulance, her ringed hand clasped tightly with sleeping Lexa's.

_Yes. Clarke Griffin would even fight death for Alexandria Woods._

Madeline is snoring in between them, small arms tugged on her bunny. Clarke moves up on one shoulder and kisses her daughter and Lexa dips her head down so she can touch the soft slope of Maddie's chubby cheeks.

 

"Goodnight, my little one." Lexa coos dreamily at their child. Clarke grins awestruck still. Maddie stirs in closed curtained lids, a _Mama_ whispered before she rolls onto Lexa's side, eyes closed in slumber again.

 

Abby dips down and curls her granddaughter in her arms. She softens a _goodnight_ and closing out the ward door on her way out.

 

 

Clarke traces the hills and shallow dips of her wife's lips, fingers slowing on the wrapped cotton on her neck and down to her breastplate.

 

"You saved her." Clarke murmurs low and husky against Lexa's shoulder blade, nose deepening a bit until her lips reach the tanned bare skin of her neck. Clarke presses a sloppy kiss there.

 

"And you saved us." Lexa curves her neck enough to press a kiss on the contour of Clarke's somewhat salty nose. Its inarticulate and deliberate and Clarke still craves it.

 

"Only because you promised me you would grow old with me." Clarke's voice wavers, exhilarated at the tension and feeling childlike at the slowing tears whilst lying on a hospital bed but she was scared. "I was so scared."

 

Lexa is looking at her when Clarke looks up to her, her eyes inked and dark like the rainforest at sunset. Lexa leans in, strong arm cupping the layer behind Clarke's ear, foreheads touching and softly pressed her lips on hers. Clarke leans in on top of her, small wimps of anticipation crumbling out her mouth.

 

Lexa smiles under Clarke, fingers languidly erasing the streaks of loosened emotions on run.

 

"I'm so in love with you, I hope you that Clarke Griffin-Woods. You and our little one."

 

Still, even after all these years, Clarke blushes in rosy cheeks and renewed watery eyes. She doesn't hear the opening of the hospital room door, she doesn't see Marcus Kane smile and close the door as tamed as she came.

 

Clarke only sees her wife. She bends down, her lips arching as she steals Lexa's every sighs and moans and words and Clarke prays _again and again_ because she hopes that Lexa knows too how much Clarke Woods loves her too.

_Her and their little one._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really write this genre and this was supposed to be in the supercorp universe but anyway, I'm kinda nervous about this one. Tell me how you liked it.


End file.
